“Are you all right?” asked Trace.
He nodded as if exhausted. “It’s quieter here.”
“Voices,” Trace said. Uneasiness flitted across his face.
Impani sneered. Maybe he should trust Anselmi’s extrasensory perception as she did.
“What’s all this?” Natica stood before several long tables. Thick green moss covered the tops and spilled over the sides.
Trace stepped nearer. “They’re seed beds. The colonists were trying to figure out which crop grows best.”
“Looks like the only thing they produced was moss,” Natica said.
Behind her, Wilde whistled through his teeth. “All this grew in just two months?”
Trace took out his knife and cut a solid cube of moss from the seedbed. He held it to the scant light then sealed it in a container on his belt. When his gaze met Impani’s, his expression was forlorn.
She hugged her chest and ambled away. Maybe she was being too hard on him. He often complained about his childhood, but she suspected he blamed himself for not meeting his father’s expectations. She envied his dilemma. At least, he had family to disappoint.
A shadow outside caught her attention. She froze, staring. It moved again.
“Something’s out there,” she whispered.
“Where?” said Wilde.
Impani pointed, backing away.
“It’s all in your mind,” Trace said. “I don’t—”
He stopped. She looked toward him and saw another shadow move along the wall.
Natica gasped. “It’s them.”
“Do they know we’re here?” said Impani.
“Don’t panic.” Wilde patted her shoulder. “We have weapons.”
“The colonists had weapons, too,” she said, and the thought continued—now the colonists are gone.
“There’s two more,” said Anselmi.
Impani turned. A silhouette merged briefly with another as they circled the dome. Cold dread filled her stomach. “How many?”
“At least four,” Trace said.
“They’re headed toward the hatch,” said Wilde.
“You mean the hatch that just had its lock blown away?” Trace asked.
Natica squeaked in a harsh whisper, “What are we going to do?”
“I know what I’m going to do.” Wilde drew his gun.
“Put that away,” Trace said. “We don’t know if they’re hostile. We will follow first contact protocol.”
“I have the right to defend myself.”
“I’m team leader.”
Wilde scowled. “You say that as if it means something.”
“They’re coming in!” Anselmi pushed against the door.
Impani stood at Trace’s side, although she couldn’t say how she got there. Something pounded at the door. Anselmi struggled to keep it closed.
“All right.” Trace held out his gun. “No one shoot unless I give the word.”
Impani pulled her stat-gun from her belt. She glanced at Natica, who looked frightened beyond reason, at Wilde, whose face was tight and flat.
“Go,” said Trace.
Anselmi stepped away. Impani raised her gun as the inner hatch opened.
CHAPTER 8
Trace tensed as four figures leaped through the door. Each held a flamethrower.
He shouted with sudden comprehension. “Hold it! We’re Colonial Scouts.”
“Trace?” one of the figures said. “Trace Hanson?” He tugged down a neckerchief tied over his mouth and nose.
“Cole!” Trace grinned and stepped forward.
With a laugh, Cole pulled him into a rough embrace.
Trace felt his face redden. He turned to his team. “This is my father’s advisor. And my mentor when I was a kid.” He clapped Cole on the back. Dust rose from his jacket.
“What are you doing here?” Cole asked.
Trace hesitated.
Impani said, “We’re here to assist and stabilize.”
Trace shot her a sidelong glance. “A distress call was sent from this location.”
“I know. I sent it,” Cole said. “But, I didn’t expect… I mean, you’re all so—”
“We’re trained professionals,” Wilde said in a growl.
Trace noted that Wilde had not lowered his stat-gun, although the colonists had dropped their weapons. “What’s happened here? Where is everyone?” He didn’t ask about his father, although the question was foremost on his mind.
Cole looked at him, and his eyes seemed older than Trace remembered. “I’m happy to see you, but I wish the circumstances were better. This is a dangerous world. There are… life forms.”
“We saw one,” Anselmi said. “Are they plant or animal?”
“Who knows?” one of the men said.
“They’ve been attacking the camp since we got here,” Cole said. “People are missing.”
Trace’s heart froze. “How many?”
“Twelve,” Cole said.
Trace blinked. Twelve? Then where were the other fifty-eight people?
“We’ve searched for them, of course,” a man said. “I don’t like to call them dead until I see their bodies.”
“This is Madsen.” Cole motioned. “Our Chief of Security.”
“Good to meet you.” Trace shook Madsen’s hand.
Then a sound edged through the open door—a whistling hiss that Trace associated with the creature.
Madsen hurried to the hatch and peered out. “Clear.”
Cole nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”
With a glance at his team, Trace followed. Cole quick-stepped across the paddock. The Scouts kept on his heels. Behind them, Madsen and the other two colonists fought to close the outer hatch.
“The lock is fused,” Madsen called.
In an undertone, Trace said, “Our fault.”
Cole grimaced. “Leave it! There’s no time.”
The three men rushed to catch up.
Natica asked, “Why is the camp so overgrown?”
“This site is ten years old,” Cole said. “It was run by the original settlers. I sent the distress call from here because the com is on a dedicated feed. I needed extra power to relay a signal through an Impellic ring.”
“This isn’t Dad’s farm?” Trace blurted. Hope swelled in his chest.
“We’re set up a few kilometers away.” Cole increased his gait as he followed a narrow path into the jungle. “This used to be a road.”
Trace looked up at a canopy of mushrooms, their underbellies dark with tightly packed gills. Filaments drifted like cobwebs in the air. The vegetation was so dense he couldn’t see ten meters ahead. “How did you know we’d arrived?”
“Didn’t,” Cole said. “Picked you up on sensors. Thought you were more of those—”
“Moss men.”
Cole nodded.
“We seeded the area with motion detectors,” Madsen said, “but they kept registering the vegetation growth. So we tapped into our weather satellite, used it as a sensor blanket.”
“You came prepared,” Wilde said.
“Not for those things,” Madsen told him. “Nothing kills them.”
“And even with the sensors, they’re hard to track.” Cole’s words jolted with his hurried step. “They blend into the jungle. You could be standing right next to one and not know.”
“Until they drag you away,” Madsen said.
“How many are there?” Trace asked.
Madsen muttered, “They don’t hold still for a head count.”
“Sensors have them at forty-two.” Cole panted. “But we don’t know if that’s an accurate figure. They move fast.”
“So we’ve seen,” Wilde said.
They reached a steep rise. Yellow vegetation grew up the side like stacked elephant ears. Cole used them as steps, climbing quickly.
Trace matched his pace. He looked back at the troop. Wilde and Madsen climbed together, discussing the settlement’s weaponry. Impani climbed one-handed while taking a res
onance scan. Anselmi and Natica followed. Anselmi looked puzzled and distracted. Behind them, the other two colonists kept their flamethrowers lit and their eyes on the jungle.
Impani held up her resonator. “I’ve got energy readings ahead.”
“That’s the alarm grid,” Madsen said. “We modified the Doppler. Keeps the camp under surveillance.”
Another howl reached them.
“Almost there,” Cole said.
He sounded winded. The man was nearly his father’s age. What were they thinking, coming to a world like this?
They reached the hilltop. The jungle broke as if a line had been drawn. Sunlight filtered through the hazy sky.
Cole leaned forward, hands on his knees. He motioned ahead. “That’s our camp.”
Trace looked down the valley to see a sprawling settlement. Relief released him, and he realized how tense he’d been, as if he’d been holding his breath until he found his father. The area had the usual Quonset huts and utility domes, but also smaller domes connected with translucent tubes. “Looks like the hamster village I used to have.”
Cole chuckled.
Madsen said, “We call them bubble tents. We thought they’d make a cleaner environment. You pump in filtered air to keep them inflated, and any dust or debris blows out the vents. But the filters keep clogging.”
“Where are all the people?” Natica asked.
“Inside. We don’t move around much during the day. It’s safer at night. The problem is night is only five hours long. Counter that with fifteen hours of daylight.” Madsen led them toward the colonists’ camp. As he walked, he pulled a communications device from his jacket pocket. “It’s us. Be ready to reset the alarm.”
On cue, a strident siren rose over the settlement. Several men rushed outdoors, their flamethrowers ignited. The alarm cut off abruptly.
Trace walked at Cole’s side. He felt more confident with each step. The mission was moving forward. They’d found the colonists. Now he only needed to secure their safety.
The valley had been cleared of the tree-like mushrooms, but the ground cover was still thick. Trace avoided several patches of stringy orange vines. Halfway down the hill, a stand of reeds clacked loudly.
Wilde jumped. “What made them do that? There’s no wind.”
“You get used to plants moving on their own around here,” Cole said.
As they neared the camp, more people rushed outdoors to greet them. They had the gaunt appearance of the overworked. Trace smiled and glanced around. He saw his father.
Aldus Hanson emerged from a dome that appeared to be the camp’s hub. He also looked haggard and drawn. He limped toward them on his half-foot. Several colonists trailed.
Cole raised his arms and shouted, “The Colonial Scouts have arrived.”
“Children?” Aldus bellowed. “They sent children when we asked for an army?”
“Where are all the weapons you promised?” someone in the crowd yelled. “How are we supposed to defend ourselves?”
Trace stared. His face stung as if the insults had been physical. He shifted the case that concealed the extra fifteen skinsuits. What would the crowd say if they knew of his covert mission to rescue only the colony leaders?
Twelve colonists missing, plus the fifteen he’d been ordered to retrieve—that left forty-three people stranded on a hostile world.
“Impani,” he murmured, “I want you and Wilde to go with Madsen and analyze the colony defenses. I want a detailed report. Natica, find a supply inventory. See if these people have anything in stock that we can use—explosives for clearing the fields, extra fuel for the vehicles. Take Anselmi with you.”
“Right,” Natica said.
She and her teammates hustled away—without so much as a snicker from Wilde, to Trace’s relief. Dry mouthed, he approached his father.
“I told you this would happen,” Aldus said to Cole. “That distress signal of yours was less than a joke.”
“It got a response,” Cole said.
Aldus growled. “Colonial Scouts.”
Trace said, “Hi, Dad.”
His father’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked stricken. Then he shook his head. “No, no, no. You cannot be here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Too dangerous. Go back to base, or wherever it is that you—”
“I have other orders.”
“Is that so?” Aldus stepped forward and jabbed a finger in Trace’s direction. “You listen to me, boy. I want you out. Now.”
Trace raised his voice. “I’m leader of this mission. This time, you’ll listen to me.”
“We’ll see about that.” A smirk crossed his father’s face. “Cole, I want you to send another message.”
CHAPTER 9
Impani and Wilde followed Madsen away from the colonists. She threw a glare at Trace who stood with his father. He wanted to take all the credit for himself. That was why he sent the rest of the team on errands.
Madsen said, “That was Mr. Hanson’s son?”
“That’s our fearless leader,” Impani said, and then more quietly, “giving orders.”
“I’m just glad to get out of there. I don’t need to be privy to a father-son reunion,” said Wilde.
Impani glanced at him. “I forgot. You don’t have a father.”
Madsen glanced back. “No?”
“My mother never married,” Wilde told him. “Life in the Space Corps, you know. She was artificially inseminated.”
“A Corps brat, eh?” Madsen said. “What’s your mother’s rank?”
“Fleet Admiral.”
“Don’t tell me you’re the son of Fleet Admiral Amanda Wilde.” Madsen laughed. “We have ourselves yet another celebrity. And who’s your mother, the Queen of Andromeda?”
“If she is, she owes me a few birthday presents,” Impani said.
Madsen laughed again.
They walked toward a cluster of domes near the far end of camp. The walls were spotless. No purple mold. The ground was flat and hard, devoid of plant life. As if it had been sterilized. Maybe with fire or chemicals.
“Well, I don’t envy Trace his father,” Madsen said. “Mr. Hanson is a tough taskmaster. Although, I will say he puts himself last when it comes to the needs of others.”
“I don’t think Trace felt he did,” Impani murmured.
“Sometimes fathers have less patience with their sons.” He keyed open a hatch. “Go on in.”
They climbed into a narrow vestibule. Madsen pulled the hatch shut. He took off his jacket and the scarf he wore over his nose and hung them both on a rack. There came a clunk, and the light brightened.
She glanced about. “What was that?”
“Radiation,” he said. “Non-lethal.”
“Of course,” she said. “That’s why nothing’s growing on this dome. You irradiated this whole valley.”
Madsen nodded. “We chose the site then bombed it from space.”
No wonder the moss creatures were angry.
The inner door opened. Madsen ushered them inside with a sweep of his hand. They entered a room crammed with computer equipment. Two people looked up.
“These are our meteorologists, Jane Delray and Tungst Einkorn,” Madsen said.
Delray and Einkorn nodded and returned to their work.
Madsen spread his arms. “And this is our weather station.”
Wilde whistled. “Nice setup.”
“As I mentioned earlier, we’ve adapted the Doppler and the main satellite—”
“That’s fine,” said Wilde. “You’re keeping tabs on the things. Good. But what do you have to stop them from storming the camp?”
“Nothing. Our only defense is advanced notice.”
Wilde threw up his hands. “So, you have no security system and the best weapons you came up with are flamethrowers?”
“We’re lucky to have them.” Madsen scowled. “They were tossed into our stores as an afterthought, intended to clear the fields before
plowing.”
Impani flashed Wilde a stop-talking-now look then raised her voice. “How about using an energy field?”
“We rigged an electric barrier,” Madsen said, “but the monsters walked right through.”
Her stomach dropped, and her eyes widened. “Then our stat-guns might not have an effect.”
<<>>
Natica slowed as she approached the maze of Quonset huts. Hopefully, this time the information they’d been given was correct. The colonists they’d asked for directions hadn’t been exactly helpful.
She glanced at Anselmi. “Third time’s the charm.”
“Charm for what?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes then pulled open the door of the nearest hut. The expansive room seemed cramped. Rows of shelves towered from floor to ceiling, all of them stacked to capacity: boxes and canisters and drums. No one was in sight.
“Hello?” called Natica. “Anyone here?”
A chair scraped, and a girl walked toward them. Her hair bobbed from a ponytail high on the side of her head. “New faces. I heard we had visitors.”
“I’m Natica, and this is Anselmi. We’re Colonial Scouts.”
“I’m Farley, head supply clerk by default, and about the only one around here who doesn’t have a degree in something or other.”
Natica grinned. “You’re just the person we need to see. Do you have an inventory we can look at?”
“It’s mostly seeds. Do you want a list of machinery, as well?”
“What machinery?”
“Well, this is a farm, right? So, they have plows and bulldozers, that sort of thing.” Farley pulled a notepad from her overalls and tilted the screen upward.
Natica took the pad and stared at the list. She wished she knew what to look for. “Any weaponry? Explosives?”
“Nothing like that.”
“Are these chemicals combustible?”
“They’re just standard fertilizers.”
Natica felt her cheeks go pink. “I see. Are you low on anything?”
“No. They planned this excursion pretty well. The only item I’m concerned about is gellasene. They use it in their flamethrowers, and they use flamethrowers a lot.”
“Have you told anyone?” Natica asked.
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